A Poor Relation (17 page)

“I daresay, but see that a maid stays with them.” She sounded querulous. “Christopher, help me up the stair, I shall retire now. All these alarums and excursions are too much for me at my age.”

Chris decided he might as well go to bed, too. Perhaps in the morning he might be allowed to see Rowena.

The old habit of sleeping lightly lest Bernard should call out came back to him. He half-roused several times, heard nothing and went back to sleep. Then came a muffled cry that brought him instantly to full alertness. He flung his dressing gown on over his nightshirt and hurried into the hallway, tying the girdle as he went.

There it was again, clearer now, from the rose bedchamber. Without ceremony he opened the door and went in.

By the flickering light of the fire and a pair of candles on the mantel, he saw Rowena tossing restlessly on the bed. Her eyes were open but unfocussed. Anne bent over her, trying to calm her. She looked up as he strode to her side.

“I cannot keep her still, let alone give her the doctor’s draught.”

“Where is the maid Lady Farleigh bade stay with you?”

Anne waved at a dark corner. “She is so sound asleep that Rowena’s cries did not disturb her, and I did not dare leave Rowena to go and shake her.”

The cry came again. “Pinkie, my head hurts so. Pinkie? Don’t go away again.”

Chris sat on the edge of the bed, put his arm round  Rowena’s shoulders and captured her agitated hands in his.

“Rowena, be still and take your medicine.”

She froze, then her eyes cleared a little and she mumbled, “Yes, Major.”

Anne hastened to raise the cup to her lips and she obediently swallowed. Then she let Chris ease her down on the pillows and Anne pulled up the coverlet and tucked her in firmly.

“Will you stay with me, Pinkie?” Her eyes were closing already.

“I shall stay,” Anne promised.

“And I,” Chris added softly. They sat in silence until her even breathing told them she was asleep, then he said in a low voice, “Who is Pinkie?”

“Her cousin, Miss Pinkerton. Rowena keeps calling for her.”

“Would she come, do you think, if I sent my carriage to fetch her?”

Anne stared at him. “Would you do that? I expect she will for they are very fond of each other, and she is not happy where she is, I collect. It always troubled Rowena that she could do nothing for her.”

“You do not know her direction, I suppose.”

“I have often seen Rowena’s letters to her lying on the hall table.” A moment’s thought produced an address in Islington.

“I’ll send Potter first thing in the morning. Bernard was right when he said that your intellect is superb.” He was teasing, for remembering an address was hardly a test of intellect.

“He said that?” The dim light could not hide her pink cheeks and the way her eyes sparkled. “That is the nicest compliment I have ever had. And all the better that he did not say it to my face.”

“You are an unusual girl, Miss Anne.” Chris grinned and shook his head. “Nonetheless, you must be tired and I have had a few hours’ sleep. Might I suggest that you lie down on the chaise by the fire? I will watch your cousin and I promise to wake you if her condition changes. I am quite an expert nurse, I assure you.”

“Of course, you have had a great deal of practice. I hope you will not think me forward if  I thank you for taking care of Bernard?”

“Not at all,” he said gravely.

She settled on the chaise longue and soon drifted off to sleep. He saw her pelisse draped over the back of a chair and spread it over her, then stood a moment looking down at her. He envied his friend. There was nothing to stop Bernard offering for Anne, and everything to stop Chris offering for Rowena. Beautiful as Millicent was, he did not love her, and he knew very well that she did not love him, yet for her money’s sake he must woo her. It made him feel a villain.

Rowena moaned and he hurried to her. Despite Bernard’s reassurances he still blamed himself at least in part for her mishap. She looked frail and lost in the middle of the wide bed.

He suddenly remembered the young man who had sent her horse to her; perhaps she would want him informed of her illness. Jealousy flared as he wondered just how close Rowena had been to her old neighbour. Nonetheless, if she wished to see the fellow he would do his best in the morning to contact him.

For now, though, all he could do was to make her as comfortable as possible. Anne, in a laudable attempt to keep her still, had tucked in the bedclothes so tight that they must be pressing painfully on her bruises. Chris loosened one side. As he leaned over to tug at the other, she moved in her sleep, pushing down sheet and coverlet. His hand brushed her breast, clad only in a thin cotton bedgown.

He started back as if he had been burned. An unaccustomed warmth spread through him. Lady Farleigh was probably right, he should not be here.

He stayed. He found some lavender water and bathed her hot forehead, avoiding the small piece of court plaster. He murmured soothing words when she stirred and held her hand when she moaned, and when, towards dawn, she opened her eyes, his face was the first thing she saw.

“Chris.” Her smile wavered.

“Thank heaven, you have regained your senses. How do you feel?”

“My head feels as if a blacksmith is at work inside.”

“My poor girl!”

“What happened? Where am I?” Rowena’s voice was scarcely audible and she had closed her eyes again.

“You are at Farleigh Grange. Do you remember walking... Oh, Lord, the maid is stirring and I ought not to be here. Call to her if you need anything, and your cousin Anne is asleep by the fire, too. I shall come and see you later, I promise, and explain everything.” He quickly pressed her hand and slipped out of the room.

There was a small desk in his dressing room, an exquisite piece of French buhl that had probably cost enough to pay a dozen day labourers for a year. Chris sat down and struggled with the composition of a letter that without unduly alarming the elderly spinster, would bring Miss Pinkerton racing to her young kinswoman’s side.

By the time it was done to his satisfaction, he heard servants moving about. The door swung open to admit a chambermaid bearing a coal-scuttle. When she saw him sitting there in his dressing gown she gasped, set the scuttle down with a thump on the carpet and bobbed a curtsy.

 “Beg pardon, my lord. I di’n’t know your lordship were awake. I c’n come back later.”

“Never mind the fire, just go and tell Potter I need him, if you please.”

“Yes, my lord.” Again she curtsied, then turned and fled. He heard whispering and giggling in the hall and wondered how many chambermaids he employed.

“Go and ask Mrs. Diggory,” one voice advised, and there was a pattering of feet.

Noting with annoyance the dirty mark left on the priceless Aubusson carpet, Chris picked up the scuttle and made up the fire. He had often done it in Spain, after all, and the room was chilly.

It was ten minutes before Potter arrived, dressed with somewhat less than his usual military neatness.

“I thought we was done with reveille at dawn, my lord,” he said with disapproval. “Them maids is in a right flutter what with you being up at this hour and telling ‘em to wake his lordship’s own personal vally de chamber. That’s like sending a raw recruit to wake a drill sergeant, that is.”

“Enough of your lip, corporal. I’ve marching orders for you.”

“Sir!” Potter sprang to attention.

Chris gave him the letter for Miss Pinkerton. “You’ll take the travelling carriage. It’s up to you to make sure the old lady is comfortable, but see that you get her here by tomorrow night. Miss Caxton wants to see her.”

“Not like to stick her spoon in the wall, is she, my lord?”

“No, but she is far from well.”

“Poor lass. By all accounts she’s well liked up at Grove Park.”

 “That’s enough, corporal! Let’s have a little discipline around here, even if I’m no longer an officer, merely an earl.”

Potter grinned, but said only, “Yes, sir.” He saluted and departed.

Chris wanted to go back and see if Rowena was still awake. Failing that, he wandered over to the window. His rooms were at the front of the house, and the carriage would pass on its way to the main gate. Rowena had called for Pinkie, and Pinkie she should have. If his situation denied him the happiness of making her his wife, at least he should have the satisfaction of fulfilling her least wish.

The lime trees lining the avenue were still now, but the ground beneath them was littered with branches. The Earl of Farleigh sighed. He had better dress and go to see what damage the tempest had wrought in his precious orchards.

Most of the few remaining apples had been blown off the trees. They were unsalable, fit only for immediate use. He decided to open the orchards to gleaners; that would please Rowena. Several trees had blown down, but they were all among those he meant to replace anyway. He shuddered at the thought that Rowena might have been hit by a tree instead of just a branch.

The wind had done quite a bit of his pruning for him, as well as stripping most of the leaves from the branches. He must ask Rowena whether the pruning could proceed at once, or whether he must wait another month or two for the trees to become truly dormant.

He hoped she would be well enough to consult. He must be careful not to tire her with his questions.

It was still early when he returned from his ride, but his bailiff and two of his tenants were waiting for him. Tentatively at first, then with more confidence when they realized his lordship was not about to send them off with a flea in the ear, they presented their damage reports.

A henhouse had been demolished and a chimney toppled, besides an astonishing number of slates off the roofs. Mr. Deakins had already worked up an estimate of the cost of repairs.

Though Chris blenched when he saw the total, he nodded. “I’ll dub up, but I want to see for myself first. Shall we go, gentlemen?”

It was more essential than ever that he marry a fortune. He simply could not allow himself to see Rowena as anything more than a friend.

El Cid was saddled again and Chris rode round all the farms with Mr. Deakins. None of the others had suffered quite as much, fortunately for his pocket. He ordered his bailiff to set repairs in train and once more returned home anxious to consult Rowena, if she felt well enough. He had not the least notion whether the prices quoted were reasonable, but she would surely know.

As he approached the vestibule from the stable entrance he heard the front door opening. He was disinclined to receive visitors, especially when he heard Millicent speaking.

“We have come to see my cousin, Miss Caxton.”

Diggory replied in his dignified tones, “I shall send to inform Miss Caxton of your arrival, my lady, miss. Her ladyship is in the drawing room; will you wait there?”

“The earl is not at home?” There was an unmistakable pout in Millicent’s voice.

Chris braced himself to do his duty. “I have just now returned, ladies.” He bowed.

“Oh, there you are, Lord Farleigh. We are come to make sure poor Rowena is all right.”

“Of course you must be concerned,” he said, trying to keep the irony out of his voice as he thought of their notable absence last night. “I have not heard the latest news, but if you will come into the drawing room Diggory will soon bring us word.”

Lady Grove protested her gratitude at his rescue of her niece, and repeated fulsome thanks to Lady Farleigh for taking Rowena in.

“Of course we will take her home with us at once if she is well enough,” she added. “The poor child will do better in her own home.”

“Oh, no, Mama, we must not think of moving Rowena until she is quite recovered,” Millicent insisted. “How selfish it would be to risk her health because we want her at home! I am sure Lady Farleigh’s servants are well able to care for her.”

“Not to mention your sister, who hurried to her side last night,” said the dowager sardonically.

“Anne is the veriest hoyden, I fear, ma’am.” As usual Lady Grove was easily flustered. “It would not occur to her that her presence might discommode the household.”

“On the contrary, ma’am, I found her solicitude admirable.”

To Chris’s relief, Anne came in at that moment.

“Mama, I am so glad you are come. Rowena’s poor head aches so. I do not know what to do for her.” Belatedly she curtsied to the countess. “Good morning, my lady. Pray excuse us?”

“Go on, child, be off with you,” Lady Farleigh waved dismissal.

Chris accompanied Anne and her mother to the door. “Is she feverish again?” he asked. “No? Well, I shall send for Dr. Bidwell again, anyway.” He gave orders to that effect, then returned to the drawing room to speak to the dowager. Only then did he realize that Millicent had stayed behind.

“Do you not wish to see your cousin?” He frowned.

“It cannot be good for Rowena to receive a crowd. Much as I long to see her, I must not jeopardize her recovery. Do you dine at the Berry-Brownings’ tomorrow, my lord?”

He listened impatiently to her chatter about the social engagements already scheduled for the next week or two. It disgusted him that she was more interested in such matters than in her cousin’s health, and he began to wonder whether he could really bear to marry her. He felt Lady Farleigh’s satirical gaze on him. Millicent seemed to become aware of her unreceptive audience and changed the subject, talking admiringly of the magnificence of the Grange.

“I quite long to dance in your splendid ballroom, sir,” she cooed. “Do say that you mean to hold a ball soon, or perhaps a masquerade. Yes, a masquerade would be prodigious amusing, would it not?”

“I cannot plan entertainments while I have two sick guests in the house.”

“Oh, no, when they are well again. Two? Who is the other?”

“Captain Cartwright has received a setback. In fact, I have not seen him this morning. You will excuse me, ladies, if I go up to him now.”

“Of course, Christopher. Ask dear Bernard if the embrocation I sent has helped at all. Miss Grove and I shall have a comfortable cose.”

Millicent looked appalled but did not dare protest.